Thursday, November 10, 2016

[This is a post I wrote for the Oh Get A Grip blog a month ago, when we were tackling the topic of obscenity. It seems appropriate to repost it here, now. A bit of futile wish fulfillment, perhaps... ~ Lisabet]

“Tell
me about the party at the penthouse, Mr. Bridge.”

“Which
penthouse?”

Sweat
beads on the pudgy man’s brow and stains the collar of his silk
business shirt. His suit probably cost more than my salary. My annual
salary. I jot down his response in my notebook—phones
and cameras have been banned at this hearing, due to its sensitive
nature—and grin as Heidi bears down on her victim.

“I’m
referring to your penthouse in Las Vegas, on the fortieth floor of
your Fantasyland casino, where you entertained Mr. Pyotr Rostov and
his entourage on the thirteenth of June this year. According to the
other witnesses, there were professional escorts in attendance.”

“So
what?” The witness shrugs and turns to the judge with an oily
smile. “Hooking’s legal in Vegas.”

Heidi
pretends to look at her case file, lengthening the pause and turning
up the heat. Of course she’s already familiar with every detail.
God, she’s magnificent!

“But
not in New York City, where you staged another penthouse party on
March twenty second of last year, for a group of Saudi oil
executives. A party at which you tied two women into a sixty-nine
position and left them that way for more than four hours.”

Bridge’s
lawyer leaps to his feet. “Objection! Irrelevant. That case was
settled out of court, for a very substantial sum.”

“Sustained,”
says the judge wearily.

“Your
Honor, the existence of that settlement is extremely relevant to the
current proceedings. How much did you pay those women to withdraw
their accusations, Mr. Bridge?”

“My
sources indicate that you paid four million dollars to Ms. Linda
Franconi and Ms. Anika Narula in return for their dropping their
complaint.” Heidi favors him with a mild smile. “That’s a lot
of money, Mr. Bridge.”

“Not
to me,” says Bridges, swelling with pride. “But probably more
than a dyke bitch like you will see in her lifetime.”

“Hey,
I swore to tell the truth.” The defendant chuckles, but there’s
defensive tone to his laughter.

How
does he know? Aside from her fashionably short hairstyle, Heidi’s
one hundred percent femme. While her tailored gray suit broadcasts
confidence and professionalism, it also shows off her curves. She
looks every inch the up-and-coming public prosecutor that she is.

Of
course, Bridge may well call every assertive, competent woman a dyke.

In
any case, Heidi is not deterred in the least. “To get back to my
question—do you admit
you paid four million to silence these women?”

“Maybe.
Chump change to me.”

“That’s
exactly my point, Mr. Bridge. Your Honor, the defendant is so
obscenely wealthy that he calls four million dollars ‘chump
change’.”

The
lawyer in the Armani pops up like a Jack-in-the-Box. “Objection.
Counsel is expressing her personal opinions.”

“Sustained.
Stick to the facts, please, Ms. Russell.”

“Very
well, Your Honor.” She stalks over toward the witness box in her
three inch heels. “Let’s go back to the Las Vegas party. The
plaintiff claims that at that party, you drugged her, then sexually
assaulted her.”

“Sexually
assaulted?” The billionaire guffaws. “She’s a whore, for God’s
sake! I paid her to put out, for me and my guests. It’s her job.”

“Ms.
Rosario sustained internal injuries after being penetrated by a
baseball bat. Do you consider that part of her job?”

Bridge
shifts uneasily in his chair. “It wasn’t me. One of the
Russkies...”

“Your
fingerprints and DNA were found on the bat. Along with Ms. Rosario’s
blood.” My lover lays a manila folder in front of the judge. “The
lab report, Your Honor, which I respectfully submit as Exhibit A.”

“Fucking
Mexican,” Bridge mumbles. “Should’ve shipped her back to
Tijuana when she first started making trouble...”

“What
was that, Mr. Bridge?” asks Heidi sweetly.

“Nothing—nothing.”
He pulls a paisley silk handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wipes
his forehead. I scribble away, knowing my readers will love the
quotes. “Anyway, I offered to pay the slut a very handsome sum as
compensation.”

“Right.”
Heidi consults her notes once more. “Two and a half million
dollars, according to her testimony. But she refused to take it.”

“Greedy
wetback cunt.”

“Mr.
Bridge, I warned you about your language,” says Judge Walters. His
tone of voice makes his frustration clear. He’s a good old boy,
inclined by nature to side with the defendant, but even he has his
limits. “If you continue to use profanity, I’ll hold you in
contempt of court.”

“Sorry,
Your Honor. But isn’t that whole mess some other case? I’m not on
trial here for fucking—I
mean, for having sex with some Mexican hooker.”

“Quite
right, Mr. Bridge. The charges here relate to public obscenity.”
Heidi taps her pen against the file she’s holding. “And we are
not referring to your propensity for cursing.”

Returning
to her desk, she retrieves another sheaf of papers. “Let’s talk
about another accusation. Ms. Thahn Minh Nguyen works in one of your
factories in southern California. Her house has been repossessed.”

“Some
gook goes bankrupt and it’s somehow my fault?” Bridge grinds his
teeth and shakes his head. “Are you crazy or just PMS?”

Heidi
ignores the jibe.

“Ms.
Nguyen’s deposition indicates that you failed to pay her and her
fellow workers minimum wage. You also forced her to put in as much as
twenty hours per week overtime, without giving her time and a half.”

“I
didn’t force anyone to do anything! You think I personally manage
every one of my factories? Jeez Louise! Why does everyone pick on
me?” He leans forward, stabbing his finger at my partner. “My
companies provide jobs for thousands of workers. Tens of thousands.
And what do I get for that? Persecution!” He slumps back in his
chair. “If Ms. Nooyen’s not happy, let her go back where she came
from and free up a job for an American!”

“Ms.
Nguyen has been an American citizen since 1992. Her daughter, with
whom she’s now forced to live, and her grand-daughters are citizens
too.”

“Okay,
okay. Let her complain to the Department of Labor. This isn’t my
problem!”

“She
sued in Los Angeles District Court. The case was dismissed.”

“You
see? Baseless accusations!”

“There’s
convincing evidence that the judge was bribed, Mr. Bridge.”

“You
can’t prove it,” Bridge whines. “I’m clean. Maybe one of my
flunkies was trying to get in good with me.”

“Perhaps.
But it was your money, was it not?” Heidi folds her arms over her
perfect breasts. “How many companies do you own, Mr. Bridge?”

“I—I
don’t know. Maybe a hundred. It changes from week to week. I don’t
handle the details...”

“How
many houses do you have?” Heidi’s moving in for the kill.

“I’m
not sure. What difference does it make?” The defendant reminds me
of a sulking schoolboy. “Like I said, ask my accountant.”

“Well,
there’s the estate in Westchester.” She ticks off an item on a
list. “The ranch in Wyoming. The beach house in Malibu. Penthouse
apartments in Las Vegas, New York, Chicago, London and—oh,
my, in Moscow! Your pied à
terre in Paris—just a
petit coin,
a mere 2500 square feet. The resort in Cancun, staffed no doubt by
filthy Mexican rapists and criminals...”

“Objection!”
Bridge’s lawyer is right for once. Heidi’s having much too much
fun to be legal.

“Sustained.
Please refrain from sarcasm, Counsel.”

“Sorry,
Your Honor.” She makes a show of counting the items on her list.
“Thirty four,” she says finally. “According to our records, you
own thirty four houses or apartments. Of course, there may be some we
missed.”

“So
what?” Bridge mutters. “Shoot me, why don’t you? I’m rich.”

“Exactly.
But with so many houses as your disposal, perhaps you’d like to be
generous and gift one to poor Ms. Nguyen, so her grand-daughters can
have their bedroom back, and not have to sleep on the living room
couch.”

Oh,
this is going to make great copy! It doesn’t pay well, but
sometimes I love being a reporter.

Heidi
wraps up her arguments. The judge calls a recess to make his
deliberations. Given that the criterion for obscenity is community
standards, I’m surprised that this wasn’t a jury trial, but maybe
Bridge thought he’d do better convincing just one moderately
well-off white male.

He
was wrong though. When the judge reconvenes the hearing, he
pronounces Ronald Bridge guilty on six counts of obscenity and
sentences him to three months in prison. Walters doesn’t even
mention a fine. He knows that would be ridiculous.

When
Heidi emerges from the courtroom, I’m there to capture her in my
arms. “Congratulations,” I murmur as I nibble on her earlobe. Her
perfume makes me dizzy.

“Oh,
Kat! You know he’ll appeal.” She relaxes into my embrace. I kiss
her until her lipstick is thoroughly smeared.

“Never
mind. It’s the principle of the thing. Everyone’s going to know
about this. Everyone! All those silent people he’s screwed are
going to get braver about speaking up. This isn’t just about him,
either. Those other billionaires who got rich raping and stealing
from ordinary folks are going feel a little less comfortable...”

The
door swings open. An African American bailiff emerges, holding Bridge
by the arm. He’s off to a holding cell, where he’ll stay until
the bail hearing this afternoon.

“Let
me go, you stinking nigger!” the prisoner shouts.”You’re going
to be so, so sorry...”

Bridge
stops short when he notices us. I see him taking in my jeans and Doc
Martins, my button-down man’s shirt and the stud in my ear. He
doesn’t miss the fact that Heidi looks far less neat than she did
in the court room. Her jacket hangs off one shoulder, her silk blouse
is half out of her skirt and the top button’s open.

The
billionaire just stares as the bailiff leads him away. “Damn, I was
right. You are
a filthy dyke. That’s fucking disgusting!”